Wednesday, August 11, 2010

The Scarred Child.

Back in 2001 or 2002, I was dating a woman who was...interesting. She had a kind of emo/goth look to her, with her black hair, slightly too much eyeshadow, and dark clothing, but she wasn't really either. She was really quite nice and sweet and attractive. It all worked for me.

However, her life was plagued with tragedy. Her parents died in a car accident a few years prior, and she was entrusted to taking care of her seven year old sister. She did her best and it was more than enough. But it was always an uphill battle for her.

You see, her sister had some serious issues. She had a conduct disorder and was highly delusional. Since the death of her parents, she would rarely talk, and only to her sister. Perhaps most disturbing of all was that this child was absolutely riddled with scars. Arms, legs, torso, face. But she wasn't a cutter. She was a clawer...not that clawer is a word, but it works well here. And that is exactly what it sounds like. The girl I was dating had to cut her sister's fingernails DAILY to try and reduce the likelihood of her sister inflicting more injury. This little girl was inspiration for a story I wrote called SOON, which I may or may not post here in future. Needless to say, I was pretty freaked out when I met this little girl. And I was apparently lucky to meet the child because her sister did not like introducing new people to the little girl because the little girl did not handle new people well.

Anyway, the first day I met the little girl there was quite a nasty snowstorm. The girl whom I was dating insisted that I stay the night (we had not dated that long so I surfed the sofa). It was a surprisingly comfortable sofa and I was able to fall asleep.

Picture it: About 3:30AM. The window pane laced with an inch of snow and a yellow glow from a street light outside. I wake up because something doesn't seem right. Heart racing. I look around the room but cannot really see anything. Then, my gaze moves down the sofa. On the sofa, just above my knees, the little girl sat...staring at me. Not a stare of intrigue or a stare of disbelief, but this deep, pierce-your-soul, wide-eyed leer. I got the FUCK up and turned on the lamp. She just sat there and stared at me. As I walked into the hallway toward her sister's bedroom, I turned back and she was still just staring at me like she was going to murder me. Imagine Reagan and Samara mixed into one blood-curdling girl.

I woke up this girl I was dating and I calmly asked her while her sister was sitting at the foot of the sofa staring at me for god knows how long. Her reply?

"Oh, she does that sometimes."

Apparently, according to her (so take it for what it is), her little sister was essentially sleepwalking. I call it sleep-make-a-person-piss-their-pantsing, but potayto/potahto, right? Her little sister was "sort of" awake and so was very confused as to who I was and was just tearing into my flesh with her eyes because of curiosity. I've never heard of such a condition, but I didn't research it so it could be real.

Anyway, the girl continued to stare. The weather wasn't violent anymore so I decided it might be best to head home a bit early. It was a white-knuckled drive if I remember correctly, but that beat being eye-raped by a seven year old who was like something out of a Japanese ghost story.

To any haters, this story is 100% true. And it took ten years off my life, I think.

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